THE VOICES 



A Play in One Act 



BY 



HAROLD GODDARD 



THE VOICES 



A Play in One Act 



BY 

HAROLD GODDARD 

h 



COPYRIGHT. 1914 
By HAROLD C. GODDARD 

This play must not be produced without the consent of the author, 
who may be addressed at Swarthmore, Pennsylvania 



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PERSONS 
Jonathan Daecy. 

Mary Daecy — his wife. 

Jean Darcy — their daughter. 

Edgar Darcy — Jean's older brother. 

Kenneth Darcy — her twin brother. 

Elizabeth Chester — her married sister. 

Malcolm West — her fiance. 

Daniel West, called "Uncle Dan" — Malcolm's father. 



THE SCENE 
The entire action takes place in the living-room of 
the Darcy cottage. 

Scene I — The Call — An autumn afternoon. 

Scene II — The Parting — The next afternoon. 

Scene III — The Question — The same evening. 

Scene IV — The Return — An evening many 
months later. 

Scene V — The Voices — Very late the same 
night. 

Scene VI — The Departure — The next morning. 



NOTE 

It would have been technically quite easy to re- 
duce the number of scenes in this play. But such an 
arrangement would have marred the intended effect, 
which was, not to concentrate the action, but to give a 
series of quick cross-sections through the life of the 
heroine. ... It may be added that it is quite futile 
to attempt a production of this play unless there is 
available for the part of Jean a girl of distinctly poet- 
ical temperament, one who has at least an inkling, in 
the range of her own experience, of what ' ' The Voices ' ' 
meant to Jean. 



The Voices 

SCENE I. 
" The Call." 

[The living-room in a country cottage. The late 
afternoon sun streams in from a western window over 
the soft brown hair of a girl of seventeen or eighteen, 
who lies outstretched, chin upon hand, on a sofa, 
reading. So lost is she in the world of imagination that 
at first only a glimpse is afforded of the eager face bent 
low over the book before her. At length, however, she 
turns the last page, and a moment later, taking a deep 
breath,looks up, gazing off into vacancy, her lips parted, 
her cheeks flushed, her face overspread with a mingled 
expression of wonder and inspiration. At last, rising 
to a kneeling posture, she turns to a picture at the front 
of the volume she has been reading and studies it in- 
tently. Then, clasping the book in her arms, she gets 
up and going over to the window stands there gazing 
out, not at the landscape, however, but still at some in- 
ner vision. 

A young man steals in at the door.] 

THE YOUNG MAN 

Jean! [He embraces her.] 

JEAN 

Why, Malcolm, how you startled me! I had for- 
gotten where I was. I have been reading. [Clasping 
the book to her breast.] It's wonderful, Malcolm, won- 
derful! Have you ever read her story? — Joan of Arc. 

MALCOLM 

Yes, but . . . 

JEAN 

Think what it would be to be like her ! 

MALCOLM 

But . . . 



6 THE VOICES 

JEAN 

I wonder what the voices were she heard. Do 
you suppose they were real voices ? . . . Why, what 
is it, Malcolm? 

MALCOLM 

I . . we've got to go. 

JEAN 

Not . . . not to the war ? 

MALCOLM 

Yes; the call has come at last. We leave tomor- 
row. 

JEAN 

No ! [They embrace each other passionately. They 
cannot speak.] 

MALCOLM 

I'm glad, now, mother didn't live. It would have 
killed her. 

JEAN 

Malcolm! This doesn't mean Kenneth will have 
to go? 

MALCOLM 

How old is he? 

JEAN 

Why! we are twins, you know. 

MALCOLM 

Of course ! And you were eighteen in the spring. 
Then he will have to go. 

JEAN 

It will break mother's heart. [They are silent.] 

MALCOLM 

I can't wait any longer, dearest. . . . There's 
so much to be done. I '11 come this evening to ... to 
say good-bye. [Throwing back his shoulders and smil- 
ing.] There! What actions for a soldier! . . . 
Here's Kenneth now. Good-bye. 



KENNETH 



THE VOICES ' 

[He kisses her; she follows him to the door as he 

goes out. 

Kenneth, Jean's twin brother, a rather pale deli- 
cate youth, comes in.] 

KENNETH 

What is Malcolm off so fast for? 

JEAN 

Oh, Kenneth . . . [She cannot bring herself to 
break the news.] 

What? 

JEAN 

Did you . . . have you . . . have you ever 
read this book? 

KENNETH 

[After looking at Jean, perplexed.] Joan of Arc? 
Not this ; but I have read about her. [Looking at the 
frontispiece.] Here is a picture of her listening to the 
voices. How wide her eyes are ! 

KENNETH 

Why, Jean ! did you ever stop to think ! 

JEAN 

What? 

KENNETH 

Your name ! 

JEAN 

My name! What do you mean? 

KENNETH 

Just drop the "y" and it is just like hers. Jeanne 
D' Arc— Jean Darc-y. 

JEAN 

Why ! Let me see ! How strange ! 

KENNETH 

The "c" of course sounds different. They look the 
same, though. It was seeing yours written there right 
under hers that made me notice. 



8 THE VOICES 

[The rapt expression has returned to Jean's 
face.] 

KENNETH 

[Half laughing.] Jean, perhaps there's some- 
thing great in store for you. Did mother ever tell you 
what they say an old gypsy woman said, down by the 
mill, only a month or so before we two were born ? 

JEAN 

No; what? 

KENNETH 

That within a year a child would be born in the 
neighborhood who would grow up to make this village 
famous. . . . Perhaps you're the one. 'T wouldn't 
surprise me, Jean. Or anybody else that really knows 
you. 

JEAN 

Don't be foolish, Kenneth. 

KENNETH 

You don't know what the minister told mother. 
. . . Well, anyway, I 'm glad the day 's gone by when 
women go to war. It's bad enough for men to. [Sud- 
denly catching sight of something through the ivin- 
dow.] Why ! there's father ! and Edgar ! — coming home 
at this hour ! Jean, something must have iiappened ! 

[Kenneth dashes out the door, but returns a mo- 
ment later followed by his father and brother. Edgar 
Darcy is a big robust young man, a striking contrast, 
physically, with Kenneth.] 

EDGAE 

Hurrah, Jean! We're called at last. [Aiming an 
imaginary rifle; brandishing an imaginary sword.] 
Just let me at 'em ! 

JONATHAN DARCY 

Where's mother! 



THE VOICES ° 

MARY DARCY 

[Entering from the kitchen, followed by Eliza- 
beth, Jean's older sister, who carries a bundle of shawls 
and 'comforters, presumably containing a baby.] Here 
I am. 

JONATHAN 

The word has come. We leave tomorrow. 

MAEY 

"We"? Not . . • 

JONATHAN 

[Grimly.] Yes. The boys too. 

MARY 

Not Kenneth ! 

JONATHAN 

Yes • Kenneth too. [Taking a newspaper from his 
pocket.] ' Read for yourself. . . . [Elizabeth seizes 
the paper from his hand and searches tremblingly 
through it for something she is evidently fearful of 
finding.] 

JONATHAN 

[His hand on his wife's shoulder as she embraces 
Kenneth.] Brace up, mother. You may be frightened 
about the rest of us; but it will be months before the 
boy could be placed on the firing line. He will have 
weeks of drilling first. We'll hope 'twill all be over 
before that. 

KENNETH 

[Suddenly crying out shrilly.] I don't want to go ! 
I don't want to kill anybody! Why should I kill any- 
body? 

EDGAR 

You mollycoddle. [Acting out his words.] I hope 
before another month has gone by, I'll have driven a 
bayonet into a dozen of those beggars' carcasses— and 
heard it crunch on their ribs, too, when I turned it 
round. The confounded scoundrels ! 



10 THE VOICES 

[Elizabeth gives a low cry and falls almost faint- 
ing on the sofa. The paper drops from her hand upon 
the floor.] 

MARY 

Not Alfred? [She rushes to Elizabeth's side try- 
ing to take the baby from her daughter; but Elizabeth 
clasps the child to her heart convulsively. Jonathan 
Darcy has picked up the paper and scans its columns 
hastily.] 

MARY 

Is it? 

JONATHAN 

Yes ; killed in the bayonet charge the second day. 

MARY 

[Bending over the child, whom Elizabeth still 
strains to her breast.] One more little one without a 
father. 

JEAN 

He'll never know. 

MARY 

Look at his little hand. . . . 

MARY 

And Alfred was just like him once. . . . Ah, if 
the men had made those little bodies ! . . . 

[A sudden thought strikes Jean. Unconsciously 
tightening her clasp on the volume which she still holds, 
she stands gazing at something far away. The rest are 
silent.] 

EDGAR 

Well, we must get ready just the same. 

JONATHAN 

Yes ; the country calls us ; there is no time to lose. 
[curtain] 



THE VOICES 11 

SCENE II. 
"The Parting." 

[It is late afternoon of the next day. The father 
and brothers are just saying good-bye. Malcolm is 
also there, and his father, Daniel West, the latter a 
white-haired man of sixty-five whose manner is an odd- 
mixture of crustiness and good humor. The prospec- 
tive soldiers, except Kenneth, are clad in khaki. Eliza- 
beth now wears black. 

Jonathan Darcy has taken his wife aside and is 
whispering his last words of fareivell; while Kenneth, 
his arm about his mother, bows his head on her shoul- 
der. Jean, to hide her tears, has turned to the window. 
Elisabeth has stolen up behind her and takes her sis- 
ter's hand in hers. Across the room Malcolm is con- 
versing in low tones with his father. Edgar, impatient 
to be off, waits near the door.] 

MALCOLM 

And father, if ... if I should never come back, 
you'll . . . take good care of Jean? Don't let her 
grieve for me . . . forever. She'll find some other 
man to love her just as . . . no, not as much . . . 
but someone who will love her. 

DANIEL 

I '11 look out for her, Mai. But, come, come, there 's 
no call for makin' all the funeral arrangements in ad- 
vance. The whole troop of 'em will be sittin' round 
smokin' the pipe of peace long before you ever hear 
the whistle of a bullet. Mark my word ! 

EDGAR 

It's quarter of five. We must be going. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, it's time. 

EDGAR 

[To Kenneth.] Brace up, little brother, and be a 
man. 



V2 THE VOICES 

MAKY 

[Taking Malcolm aside.] Don't worry about your 
father, Malcolm. We'll keep him here. 

MALCOLM 

[Eagerly.] Oh, will you? But I'm afraid he'll 
never stay. 

MARY 

We '11 make him. 

JEAN 

Malcolm ! 

MALCOLM 

[To Jean.] Wait here. I'll come back for a mo- 
ment when they're gone. 

JEAN 

Kenneth! Father! Edgar! Kiss me. I'm not 
going with you to the train. 

[Her father and Edgar kiss her. Kenneth em- 
braces her passionately and whispers something in her 
ear. He tears himself away and they all go out except- 
ing Jean. She watches by the door. Presently Mal- 
colm comes back and the lovers rush into each other's 
arms.] 

MALCOLM 

There . . . isn't anything we can say . . . 
is there, dearest? 

JEAN 

No ; except — I love you. 

MALCOLM 

Oh, I love you! 

MALCOLM 

Jean, there's just a moment left. [Pointing to the 
piano in one corner.] Play something. You've played 
to me so many times. 

[Jean seats herself at the piano. Though it is an 
old instrument, it is in good tune, and Jean, tears in her 



THE VOICES 



13 



eyes, puts her whole soul into the music. She plays the 
familiar Thuringian Popular Air:] 



ro imj" 





[She plays the song through twice.] 



MALCOLM 



I've got to go. 

[They embrace for the last time. Malcolm rushes 
out. Jean watches for a moment at the window; then 
she sinks down into a chair and buries her face in her 
hands. Suddenly, however, she gets up, and with a look 
of determination throws back her head and shoulders. 
She smiles, and looks up with, arms outstretched.] 

[curtain] 



SCENE III. 

"The Question." 

[The same evening. The family has finished sup- 
per and is gathered round the table. Daniel West is 
still with them. He stands at the window now reading a 
letter. Elizabeth sits a little apart, silent and preoccu- 
pied. The baby's basket is in a corner of the room.] 

MARY 

I can't understand. I can't understand. Why 
does it have to be? . . . Jean, your teachers always 
called you the brightest girl they ever taught. Do 
you understand it? 



14 THE VOICES 

JEAN 

No. I've read, and I've asked questions, and I've 
thought ; and still I can 't make out. 

MARY 

Uncle Daniel, you're always reading; you know 
everything. What is it really all about ? Why are we 
fighting? 

DANIEL 

yPutting his letter in his pocket and coming from 
the window.] Pretty late in the evening to tackle 
that! You've got to go back, to take it in, a full fifty 
years, or maybe more. 

JEAN 

No, that's not what we mean. I don't care what 
happened long ago. I want to know the reason, now, 
why we are fighting. 

DANIEL 

An' I tell you there isn't any reason "now." 

MARY 

You mean to say they're fighting without a 
reason f 

DANIEL 

Don't talk like a fool, Mary. I mean you've got to 
burrow down into history to find the reason. [Here, 
and elsewhere, the tartness of some of Uncle Daniel's 
replies is considerably mitigated by the not unkindly 
smile that plays about the corners of his mouth.'] 

MARY 

Well, all I 've got to say in that case, then, is this : 
if studying history makes out a good reason for such a 
bad thing as this war, then the less history there is the 
better. 

DANIEL 

Don't talk nonsense, Mary! — leastwise any more 
of it than you're obliged to, bein' a woman. 



THE VOICES 15 

MARY 

Come, Daniel, don't get vexed. We're ready to 
listen. 

ELIZABETH 

Where is the ink? 

MARY 

There on the shelf beside the clock. Who are you 
writing to ? 

ELIZABETH 

I'll tell you — when it's done. 

MARY 

I may not understand you, Daniel. But I've got 
a grain of common sense left; and I say it's madness, 
sheer ravin' madness. If there was any reason for a 
quarrel, why didn't they get together and talk it over 
like sensible beings? 

DANIEL 

"Talk it over!" If you don't talk for all the 
world just like a woman. "Talk it over!" 

JEAN 

Well, why shouldn't they? 

DANIEL 

"Talk it over!" Hmp! Don't you know that 
everything in this world is settled by force ? 

JEAN 

That isn't true. 

DANIEL 

It happens to be true, though. Don't you pay 
taxes on this little cottage? 

JEAN 

Yes. 

DANIEL 

Why? 

MARY 

Why, we have to. 



16 THE VOICES 

DANIEL 

"Have to!" Precisely. If you didn't, a sheriff 
would come and sell you up. An' if you objected an' 
tried to put him out, they'd shove you into jail. I'd 
like to know what that is, if it isn't force. All law is 
force. 

JEAN 

What! 

DANIEL 

"All law is force," is what I said. 

JEAN 

I thought law was justice. 

DANIEL 

You thought blamed crooked then. Just like a 
woman. 

JEAN 

But it ought to be justice. 

DANIEL 

What's the use of tellin' what it ought to be, when 
it isn't? Maybe you think it was "justice," as you call 
it, when that feller from the city — what-was-his-name I 
— swindled old Nancy Lang out of her farm. He did 
it in the law courts. 

MARY 

That was sheer robbery! 

DANIEL 

Correct! That's what it was. Oh, I've watched 
it, and I've read about it — and I've felt it too in my 
time! ... In the beginnin', you see, the feller 
that had the most power went around makin' the other 
fellers obey him with a sword. But that took time and 
was otherwise inconvenient; to say nothin' of the un- 
pleasant words and feelin's it aroused. So he invented 
some rules to take the place of the sword. Those rules 
were the first laws. I'm not denyin' that the change was 
in many respects a desirable one. I'm not denyin' even 
that in the course of time, since the people have begun 



THE VOICES 17 

to get a little of the say, some of the laws have grown a 
good bit fairer. But in the main, a law is just a sheet o' 
paper to hide the sword behind it. To hide it, I mean, 
till the point sticks through an' tickles your ribs. An' 
I 've had my ribs tickled in my day ! 

JEAN 

Is this really true ? Or are you just talking, Uncle 
Dan, the way you do? 

DANIEL 

True? Of course it's true. As true as gospel — a 
blamed sight truer in fact. 

JEAN 

Why didn't they teach us this in school? 

DANIEL 

Yes! why didn't they? Same reason, I take it, 
they don't teach anything in school worth knowin'. 
Maybe you don't happen to know what a school is. 

JEAN 

What? 

DANIEL 

A school is a place where they turn real things 
into words. You might make a conundrum out o ' that. 
Why is a schoolma'm like a lawyer? He, he, he ! 

MARY 

[Her hands at her forehead.] This is too much 
for me. 

DANIEL 

Just like a woman! It's my observation that a 
woman hasn't got any powers of generalization. They 
can't think of any thin' that reaches outside o' their 
back-door-yard. 

MARY 

I don't know about that. [In a low tone, pointing 
to Elizabeth, who is still writing.] But I know my 
. . . here has had her . . . killed. And I know 
I've got a husband of my own and two boys called to 
the front. What more do I want to know? 



18 THE VOICES 

DANIEL 

Just what I said ! Precisely what I said ! Exactly 
like a woman. You always have to talk about particu- 
lar persons. You never get down to principles. Now 
this war involves some of the most far-reachin' prin- 
ciples . . . 

MARY 

I can't say as to that. But it's my opinion that a 
principle reaches altogether too far that begins by 
murderin' half the able-bodied men in . . . 

DANIEL 

But don't you care anything about the honor of 
your country 1 

MARY 

I care about my boys. 

DANIEL 

Just like a woman again ! For all the world like a 
woman. 

MARY 

[Her mind wandering from the argument to the 
mental picture.] Why does God let such things hap- 
pen? 

JEAN 

It isn't God, mother, that lets them happen. It's 
the men. [After a pause.] And the women. 

ELIZABETH 

Mother! [She hands her mother her finished let- 
ter.] 

MARY 

. . . Elizabeth! what do you mean? Are you 
crazy? Have you forgotten your baby? 

DANIEL and JEAN 

What! What! 

ELIZABETH 

You can take care of him, mother. 



THE VOICES 19 

JEAN 

What is it? 

[Daniel takes the letter from Mary's hand.] 

MARY 

[To Jean.] She's written asking to be taken as a 
nurse. 

ELIZABETH 

I've got to do my part. I owe it to Alfred's mem- 
ory to do my part. The men make their sacrifice. We 
must make ours. If they are set on carrying this 
bloody business through we women must do what we 
can to mend what they leave. They fight. We must 
nurse. [With a sudden direct appeal.] Come with 
me, Jean! 

[Jean is silent.] 

ELIZABETH 

Come! You have no . . . [Gulping back her 
sobs.] baby to leave. 

JEAN 

I can't now. 

ELIZABETH 

"Now"? What do you mean by "now"? 

JEAN 

After what Uncle Dan has said. It's set me think- 
ing. I 've got to think it out. 

MAEY 

Don't Beth! He needs you. 

[Elizabeth goes over and gazes down at the baby 
in his basket.] 

ELIZABETH 

I must. The harder it is the more certain I am it 
is my duty. [Sealing the letter.] I'm going to post 
it. [She goes out.] 

[The three sit silent.] 

JEAN 

Uncle Dan, can you lend me some books that will 
tell me more about these things? 



20 THE VOICES 

DANIEL 

About what things? 

JEAN 

What we were talking about: justice and law 
and . . . 

DANIEL 

I could; but you'd make neither head nor tail of 
'em. They're too hard diggin' for a woman. Keep 
where you belong, girl. Look at your sister. You're 
goin' to let her go alone? 

JEAN 

Yes. 

DANIEL 

You ought to be ashamed. 

JEAN 

[Very quietly.] I'm not ashamed. . . . I'll 
come and get those books tomorrow. 

[curtain] 



SCENE IV. 
"The Eeturn." 
[The same room, a good many months afterward, 
late in the evening. 

Jean stands stirring a bowl of hot gruel, reading 
meanwhile from a large volume on the table. Mary's 
voice is heard in an inner room.] 

MARY 

Are you ready for your gruel, Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

[His voice very faint and drowsy.] Yes; a very 
little. 

MARY 

[Coming in.] Still reading, Jean? I declare; I've 
hardly seen you without a book within your reach the 



THE VOICES 21 

last ten months. And such books! . . . Is it cool 
enough ? 

JEAN 

I think so. Father is still awake ? [In a low tone.] 
What did the doctor say? 

MARY 

He said he's doing well. But he's still anxious, I 
can see, about the shoulder. [She carries a cup of 
gruel out, but comes back with it immediately.] He's 
fallen asleep ! And it wasn't a minute ago he answered 
me. . . . You'd better get to bed, my dear. I'll wait 
for Uncle Daniel and give father the gruel later, if he 
wakes. 

JEAN 

Well, good night. [She kisses her mother and 
goes out.] 

[Mary busies herself about the room. Presently 
Uncle Daniel bursts in excitedly.] 

DANIEL 

They have surrendered ! That means the war is 
done ! 

MARY 

Really? Thank God! Thank God! 

DANIEL 

Let me tell Jonathan. 

MARY 

No! He's dropped asleep for the first time since 
four this morning. Don't waken him, even for this. 

DANIEL 

And listen : Edgar is home. 

MARY 

What! Edgar? 

DANIEL 

Yes; I saw him at the station. He's to be driven 
up. 



22 THE VOICES 

MARY 

He's not been hurt? 

DANIEL 

No; he's been sick, though, and was sent home 
from the front a month ago. He's dreadfully weak, 
but he says he's gettin' better. 

MARY 

No news from Kenneth? 

DANIEL 

I've heard nothin'. . . . Here's Edgar now! 
[Daniel rushes to the door and helps in Edgar. He 
is pale and emaciated, a changed man.] 

EDGAR 

Mother ! 

MARY 

My boy ! [She shows how shocked she is at his ap- 
pearance.] 

EDGAR 

Oh, but I'm getting better fast now. You should 
have seen me, mother, a month ago. 

MARY 

Poor boy! You don't look much as you did the 
day you left. How anxious you were to get away and 
fight. . . . 

EDGAR 

That's because I had no notion then what fighting 
was. [He paces up and down excitedly.] I've had 
enough of war! Oh, you have no conception! It's 
horrible. Horrible ! Worse than ten thousand hells ! 

MARY 

Don't! Don't let yourself, my boy! You can tell 
us all about it some other time. You've days and days 
ahead for that, 

EDGAR 

[Paying no attention; pacing more rapidly.] 
Mother, 3^011 've no idea. You hear a shell burst some- 



THE VOICES 23 

where over there, and splash! comes a bit of torn hu- 
man flesh right in your face. You're in a charge and 
suddenly, without looking down, you feel a dead man's 
cheek under your feet. And as your boot slips off it, 
there comes a faint moan and you know your dead 
man wasn't dead after all. And then . . . 

MARY 

Don't, Edgar, don't! You shan't. . . . Tell 
me, have you heard from Kenneth ? 

EDGAE 

[Wheeling instantly around, a strange tone in his 
voice.] Kenneth! 

MARY 

[Divining.] No! 

EDGAR 

You mean to say you hadn't heard! . . . Yes; 
killed in his first engagement. . . . But mother, you 
can be proud of him. I never would have guessed that 
that pale little brother of mine had in him the makings 
of a hero. By a strange chance I heard through a 
soldier in the hospital who was beside him. . . . 
[Softly, his hand on his mother's bowed shoulder.] 
You have to stand these things, mother, in these days. 
Every woman, almost, has to. 

DANIEL 

[Hoarsely.] You haven't heard from my boy, 
have you — from Malcolm? 

[Edgar bites his lips and does not speak.] 

DANIEL 

Tell me. I can stand it. 

EDGAR 

I never dreamed that the reports. . . . [He takes 
a soiled paper from his pocket and hands it to Daniel.] 

DANIEL 

Where? [Edgar points.] 



24 THE VOICES 

DANIEL 

Little Mai! My boy! 

MARY 

Malcolm too? 

EDGAR 

Yes, Malcolm, too. Their names are there to- 
gether. 

MARY 

Poor Jean! How shall we tell her? 
[Distant shouts and music are heard.] 

EDGAR 

Hark ! what is that ? Oh, I remember ! Down in 
the town. They're having bon-fires and music to cele- 
brate. 

MARY 

Hush! [Jean comes in.] 

JEAN 

Edgar, is it you? 

EDGAR 

Yes; it's me — what is left of me. [He embraces 
her.] 

JEAN 

[Feeling something in the air.] What is it? 
[There is a tense and embarrassed silence.] 

DANIEL 

Summon up your nerve, my girl. [He hands her 
the paper.] 

JEAN 

Not . . . [As her eye rests on the name.] Ken- 
neth! 

DANIEL 

But look on further down. 

JEAN 

No ! Not Malcolm ! 

DANIEL 

[Pointing.] Yes, Malcolm too. 



THE VOICES 25 

MARY 

[Repressing with an effort her impulse to take 
Jean in her arms.] Come. Leave her alone. [They 
go softly out.] 

[Jean stands as if struck to stone.] 
[curtain] 



SCENE V. 

''The Voices." 

[It is very late the same night. Jean sits by the 
table in a wrapper, her white night-gown showing be- 
neath it. She is reading (as in the first scene) from the 
story of Jeanne D'Arc. She finishes it, and putting down 
the book, sits gazing, as in a trance, before her. Her face 
is tear-stained, but it wears a strange calmness. Her 
lamp is burning dim. 

Once or twice, very faint, strains of music come 
from the distant town. 

Jean blows out the lamp. She goes to the window 
and raises the shade. Her wrapper has fallen from her 
shoidders, and a flood of moonlight pours in on her as 
she stands there clad in white. 

The call of a night bird is heard from outside. 

Suddenly, the girl starts as if she heard something. 
Drawing back, she gazes, with held breath, about the 
room; then turns again to the open window. She 
stands there transfixed — her hands crossed on her 
breast, her lips parted — listening. There are clouds in 
the sky without, and the moonlight ebbs and flows over 
her white figure, coming now faintly, now in full sil- 
very lustre. She falls on her knees before the window, 
looking up.] 

JEAN 

I hear you. I hear you. I'll come. I'll come. 
[curtain] 



26 THE VOICES 

SCENE VI. 
"The Departure." 
[It is early the next morning. Edgar wrapped up 
in shawls reclines in a big chair. Daniel stands at the 
window. Mary comes in.] 

MARY 

She must be pretty broken up. She never fails to 
help me with the breakfast. [She goes out.] 

EDGAR 

Mother is bearing up under it wonderfully, isn't 
she? 

DANIEL 

Yes; like a soldier. 

EDGAR 

She worshipped the very ground that Kenneth 
trod on. Kenneth and Jean — I always felt she loved 
them a little more than she did Beth and me. Don't 
know that I blame her, either. 

MARY 

[Coming in again very hurriedly.] Edgar, I'm 
frightened ! Jean 's bed has not been slept in. 

EDGAR and DANIEL 

What! 

[Jean comes in. She is in travelling costume. She 
iv ears a hat and carries a hand-bag and umbrella, which 
she places in a chair.] 

MARY 

Why, Jean, where have you been? I was so 
frightened. 

JEAN 

I've not been anywhere, mother. But I'm going 
somewhere. I'm going to leave you. [Her voice is low 
but rings with clear determination.] 

MARY 

Leave us ! 



THE VOICES 27 

JEAN 

Yes; let me tell you. 

JEAN 

Do you remember an evening — it was the evening 
of the day when father and the boys and Malcolm were 
called away — when we three, you and I and Uncle 
Daniel, got to talking about the war? [She turns to 
Daniel.] Mother and I had been speaking of the hor- 
ror of it all, and wondering why it had to be. And then 
you, in that way you have, said something about "all 
human things being war at heart"; that laws and gov- 
ernment were only force and violence in disguise. 

DANIEL 

Well, so they are. What of it? 

JEAN 

It was a new idea to me, and set me tnmking. I 
asked you to lend me some books that would explain 
these things ; and you did. 

MARY 

[To Edgar.] Yes, heaven knows she's been read- 
ing nothing else for months. Books that thick, and dry 
as . . . deliver me ! 

JEAN 

Yes, I've been reading; and the things I've read 
and the things I've thought about — and, still more, 
this dreadful war that never for a moment has been 
absent from my mind — have been making a change 
. . . in here . . . until gradually I've become a 
different girl. The whole world has grown different. 

[Something in her voice has imposed deep silence 
on the others.] 

JEAN 

Well, last night ... I don't know whether it 
was these things I have been thinking of ... or the 
word that came about Malcolm and Kenneth . . . 



28 THE VOICES 

or the book I was reading in here after you had all gone 
to bed ... I guess maybe it was all of them to- 
gether . . . anyway ... I had . . . there 
came . . . a wonderful . . . I don't know whether 
I dreamed it . . . and yet I was awake ... I 
seemed to hear voices. ... I thought once I almost 
saw . . . Oh, I can 't make it clear ! Anyway, what- 
ever it was, it made things finally plain to me. Now I 
know I have a work to do. And so I'm going. 

DANIEL 

Hm! 

MARY 

Jean! . . . But I see your mind is quite made 
up. 

JEAN 

Yes; nothing was ever so clear to me before — (ex- 
cept that I loved Malcolm). 

MARY 

But this work — what. is it? 

JEAN 

I don't know that I'd better try to tell you. It 
may sound foolish to you. But it isn't foolish. 

MARY 

Tell us. 

JEAN 

Well, you see, as I read, I came gradually to the 
conclusion that what Uncle Dan had said, in spite of 
his exaggerated way of putting it, was true ; all through 
the ages, from the beginning, men have ruled over one 
another by force. Their laws and their governments, 
even their religions, have been, for the most part, just 
power, the power of the victor in disguise. Only when 
there is a revolt against the victor, or a quarrel be- 
tween two victors, is the disguise thrown off and things 
seen as they are. And that is war. 



THE VOICES 29 

[As she proceeds the glow of feeling deepens on 
Jean's face and more and more she seems to speak not 
so much to those before her as to something within her- 
self. ,] 

JEAN 

It took me a long while to understand it. But 
then, when I thought how father and Edgar and Uncle 
Dan, and even Malcolm, seemed to take war for granted 
as it were; and how mother and Elizabeth and I, and 
nearly all the women that I knew, hated war and felt 
deep down in our hearts it was all wrong; and how, if 
we had had the say, it never could have come, suddenly 
it flashed over me ! — Here men have been trying to rule 
over each other for thousands of years, and with how 
little success ! What if the whole trouble with politics 
and law and government were the fact that they are in 
need of something that women have, and all the while 
they've barred the women out! . . . The more I 
thought of it, the more certain I became. I've been 
reading a good deal of history these last months. And 
I've been struck by the fact that the greatest leaders of 
men, the really greatest leaders — men like Christ, or 
Saint Francis, or Abraham Lincoln — have always had 
something of this womanly quality about them. Why 
shouldn't the same thing be true of the ideal govern- 
ment? The feminine element can't take the place of 
the masculine. But it can work beside it. They both 
are needed. Things will never be right until we have 
them both. 

DANIEL 

Well I '11 be dinged if the girl hasn 't gone daffy ! 

JEAN 

There was one phrase you used, Uncle Daniel, as 
you were arguing that night with me and mother, that 
has come back to me, as I've been reading, over and 
over. "Just like a woman," you said "to care more 
for persons than for principles." (Principles in the 



30 THE VOICES 

sense of general ideas, you meant, of course.) I've 
thought about that since then a great deal. I've 
watched women and listened to their conversations. 
And it's true; they do care more for persons than for 
principles. 

DANIEL 

Well, what did I tell you ! 

JEAN 

And I'm glad they do. Did it ever occur to you 
that if the men who made the laws and the men who de- 
clared the wars in the past had cared a little more 
about persons, a good many of the wars would never 
have been fought and a good many of the laws never 
passed? It's quite true that if principles were forgot- 
ten in thinking about persons, things would be pretty 
helpless and chaotic. But it's also true that when per- 
sons are forgotten in thinking about principles, things 
get pretty cruel and unjust. What is needed, I believe, 
is to think about them both at the same time. And the 
best way of getting that is to have the women help the 
men in working out these problems. 

DANIEL 

Vengeance on me if I ever dreamed in lendin' the 
girl those books . . . Look at your mother, child, 
and learn that it's a woman's place to be tender an' 
lovin'. 

JEAN 

" Tender and loving"; yes. And the world needs 
tenderness and love in its governments as well as in its 
homes. That's just ivhat I've discovered. . . . Do 
you remember, Uncle Dan, the night Elizabeth decided 
to go and be a nurse, how you told me I ought to 
be ashamed for not going with her? 

DANIEL 

Yes, and I wish you'd gone rather than stayed 
here and come to this nonsensical end. 



THE VOICES 



31 



JEAN 

For Elizabeth it was right to go. It's right for 
women to nurse, to heal the wounds that men give each 
other. But wouldn't it be greater and better if they 
could prevent those wounds from being given in the 
first place 1 We women, in the past, have done only the 
lesser of our duties. 

DANIEL 

Hmp! An' while you're doin' your new duties, 
who, I'd like to inquire, is goin' to bring the babies into 
the world, and tend to 'em when they're brought? The 
men ? Nice arrangement! About on a level with all 
your freak ideas ! 

JEAN 

I haven't forgotten the babies. Indeed I haven't! 
The women can do both. I know they can. 

DANIEL 

The women can do a lot, can't they! Mighty fine 
talk. 

EDGAR 

Shut up, Uncle Dan. Don't you see that she's in 
earnest. 

DANIEL 

[Throwing up his hands.] You, Edgar, defendin' 
such notions! Well! 

JEAN 

But it was you, Uncle Dan, that first put them in 
my head— you and the books you lent me. 

DANIEL 

Am I responsible if a woman twists what I say all 
out o' shape? And as for the books: there's some ideas 
that had better be left inside 'em. 

JEAN 

I don't think so. If they're good ideas, I think 
they should be used. 



32 THE VOICES 

DANIEL 

Just like a woman! The minute a new scheme 
pops into her head, off she's got to go and try it out! 

MARY 

But you're not really going to leave us, Jean? 

JEAN 

Yes. I told you. These thoughts — all vague and 
misty — have been in my mind a long time. But last 
night, all at once, they became clear, and I heard . . . 
I thought I heard . . . something . . . voices 
. . . telling me to come. So I 'm going. 

MARY 

Where are you going? 

JEAN 

I don't know just where. To the city. The way 
will open, I know. I know I have lots to learn. But I 
have money enough for a little while, and then — Mal- 
colm, you remember, long before the war, when we 
were first engaged, took out a little insurance in my 
name. I shall have that to help for a while longer, fie 
would be glad to have me use it so. ... I know it 
will seem strange to you : to hurry off so suddenly. But 
you can't understand. I've got to. My trunk is 
packed. I shall go this morning. 

DANIEL 

The child's stark crazy. 

MAEY 

My girl ! It's not in me to try to keep you. 
[Jean turns her head and looks out of the win- 
dow.] 

MARY 

There's a light on the girl's face. She must be 
right. 

[curtain] 



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